


A Taste of Honey

by DreamerInSilico



Series: Solstice [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico/pseuds/DreamerInSilico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Solstice, with its merriment and overabundance of mead, is the perfect time for certain issues to step out into the open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste of Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Skyrim Kink Meme; minor edits made.

The wind was bitter and piercing and the day as cold as only a Skyrim late-autumn could be, but Yvette’s fur-lined overrobe and leggings were warm, and the heat of recent exertion yet warmer. Fighting’s tendency to heat the blood aside, though, she was still incredulous that her Nord companion could _possibly_ be comfortable. Aela’s only concession to the biting chill as the season’s change approached was a wool shirt worn beneath her jerkin, but she had shaken her head with amusement when Yvette had offered the use of her cloak. 

_“You Bretons have thin blood, even as werewolves – better keep it. I’ll be fine.”_

And she had been, of course. The bandits were dead, and they were not – nor were they even terribly bloodied or frostbitten, which made this mission a resounding success in Yvette’s books. She always enjoyed working with Aela, for the fierce woman’s preference for the bow complimented Yvette’s spellcraft nicely… unlike most of the other Companions, who seemed to almost go out of their way to get in front of Yvette when she was trying to cast. (It was a damned good thing she was quick at checking herself, or she’d have roasted Farkas, in particular, several times over.) Quite aside from that, Aela was so…

“Daydreaming, shield-sister?” Aela’s smooth contralto sounded not a pace away, and Yvette looked up from her perch on a rock with a start, her train of thought evaporating into sheepishness. She was rather glad, at that moment, that the icy wind had already raised her fair skin to a rosy flush – her cheeks burned, but they shouldn’t _look_ any different. 

“Perhaps a little,” Yvette allowed, smiling wryly. “Are you ready to move on?” They had paused for an hour’s rest and a meal since they were still a few leagues out from Whiterun, and fatigue had set in early after the morning spent fighting. 

“Might as well. We’re in giant territory; I’d as soon avoid those fetchers today, and we’re pushing our luck if we keep a fire going too long. Besides, there’s a feast to get to, and I for one want to wash, first.” Aela held out an arm, and Yvette blinked at it for a moment before clasping the other woman’s wrist and allowing herself to be pulled up to a standing position. She could feel her warmth even through the leather of her archer’s bracer, and the pale grey eyes seemed to burn behind her stripes of warpaint, holding Yvette’s for what was probably only a few heartbeats, but seemed much longer than that. 

When Aela released her arm and they took to the trail once more, Yvette was glad for the taciturn efficiency with which her friend navigated the rough terrain. It meant she could chew her lip and privately wonder whether she had imagined the seconds, or what she thought she’d seen in Aela’s eyes. 

……

Jorrvaskr was a festive cacophony of merriment that stood in bright contrast to the growing dusk as they made their return. The Longest Night had fallen, and the Companions always celebrated the onset of winter with gusto… and of course, enough spirits to intoxicate a small herd of mammoths. Or werewolves, as it were. 

Yvette and Aela hurried to bathe and join the others in the hall, receiving raucous cheers and claps on the shoulder from their brothers- and sisters-in-arms, most of whom were already half in their cups on mead. Someone had broached a cask of spiced honey liquor, as well, and it went down Yvette’s throat like sweet fire when someone passed her a shot of it. 

Aela sat nearby, the two by turns recounting the glorious (if not especially) unusual details of their recent exploits. The bandits in question had been led by a particularly vicious, lifelong criminal, and it had gotten personal for the Companions when he wounded one of their more recent recruits in a scuffle on the road. Contrary to most outside opinions, Yvette’s adopted family were not an especially bloodthirsty lot, but they protected their own with a ferocity unmatched by any other mercenary company in Skyrim – and Tamriel, too, by Yvette’s estimation. 

At length, when the tale-telling had died down into alcohol-fueled boasts and banter, Yvette slipped off to the kitchen in search of a mug of something liquid that wouldn’t make her already-light head any lighter. When the Companions feasted, plain water was _never_ anywhere to be found at the table, but Yvette didn’t fancy a hangover, so she’d endure the jests that came her way if anyone noticed what she wasn’t drinking. 

As she climbed the short steps from the kitchen, flagon in hand, she heard Aela’s voice raised above the din of laughter. “Ach! Who got to the last of the strongmead already? You, Vilkas?” A rumbling voice gave what Yvette assumed was a negative. “No matter, I suppose. I swear, I’d kiss anyone who bothered to find the other cask and open it, though.” A few whoops sounded out at that, and Yvette noted with an almost detached amusement that her feet had already paused, turned around, and were now headed back in the direction she had come. 

Was she really going to - ? 

_Aela’s hand was strong and firm on her arm, and those eyes held her own a moment too long._

Yes, she supposed she was. 

The strongmead was easy enough to find, and rather than carry out the whole cask, Yvette poured a measure of it into a clean tumbler and carried it out into the great hall. Her heart fluttered in protest at her own recklessness, but her strides were quick and her hands steady on the glass, and damnit, Aela always kept her promises, even the drunken ones. 

Aela brushed wild chesnut hair out of her face to look up at Yvette when she reached the table again – it took her a moment, but then her eyes fell to the glass with its golden bounty, and she blinked… 

And then her white teeth showed in a sudden grin as she took the proffered liquor and tossed it back in one swallow. Yvette couldn’t help her answering smile as Aela’s gaze returned to her face. 

“Well then, I think I owe you something,” Aela said, soft and husky. 

……

For a moment, Yvette wondered if she should just lean over and take her due, but Aela pushed to her feet instead, raising both hands to either side of Yvette’s face. Her fingers were warm and callused, scraping gently against the skin of Yvette’s jaw and raising a strange sort of thrill when they insistently tilted the mage’s head upward toward the taller warrior’s face. 

Then Aela’s mouth met hers, and it was all she could do not to gasp. She’d mostly expected a chaste brush of lips with the perfunctory attitude of fulfilling a bargain, but that was not what was happening in the slightest. The warrior’s lips were soft and full and just a bit chapped, and they bore down with an intoxicating insistence as the hands at Yvette’s face slid backward into her coiled, black hair, pulling her even closer. Yvette tasted honey as the other woman’s hot tongue slid into her mouth and swirled against her own, driving deep, as if to devour her, and returned the kiss full-force, unable to stop a low, faint moan from sounding in the back of her throat. 

At least one of the men was whistling, and she thought vaguely that she might care about that later, but she certainly didn’t right now. Aela tasted far too good, and her touch was forge-fire against her skin. 

When at last Aela drew back, catching Yvette’s lower lip in her teeth and pulling it out slightly before letting go, the fluttering in Yvette’s chest had become pounding. She licked her lips and tasted honey all over again, as Aela smiled a slow, almost predatory smile that nearly turned her knees to water. 

“Thank you, shield-sister, for the strongmead.”


End file.
